


To Make Up for Missing You

by orphan_account



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Established Relationship, Fingering, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Kissing, M/M, Mentions of the gang, Mild Transphobia, Mild descriptions of dysphoria, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Period Typical Attitudes, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Trans Arthur Morgan, Trans Charles Smith, Trans Male Character, fuck it everyones trans now, goddamn what do i have against characters banging indoors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:08:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23710732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Charles doesn’t have to hide anything from Arthur. His whole world. The man who was, in his heart, as important as the starry the night sky, and then some. His husband.//A long overdue trans!Charthur fic, in which Charles is back from the trapper's, making the most of an afternoon in the sun with his Arthur.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith
Comments: 1
Kudos: 34





	To Make Up for Missing You

**Author's Note:**

> I would like it noted that every time Arthur says "sure" in any of my fics you have to read it in his drawl. u HAVE to
> 
> //"nub", "clit", and "entrance" used in reference to genitals here. Mild transphobia and period typical attitudes tags are used in part because neither of these characters are technically out of the closet when they're in the gang, but no transphobic violence or aggression takes place. if y'all need anything tagged gimme a heads up :)

For all the pain Charles has endured-- for all the years of hiding and the lifetime of discomfort and unbelonging-- it was probably all worth it, just to hold Arthur like this. To be held by him, to look into his eyes as the man scrapes his blunted nails across Charles’ back and moans without an ounce of shame.

Charles doesn’t have to hide anything from Arthur. _ His whole world. _ The man who was, in his heart, as important as the starry the night sky, and then some. His _ husband_.

There’s a freedom in this life they’ve carved out for themselves, living by the salt of their sweat and the good grace of the forest soil. There’s freedom in the smiles and the jokes they share, in the casual touches and the unguarded way they move about each other. The desperate gasps he wrenches from Arthur’s lungs, where the air tastes of poppies and moss and growing things amongst the backdrop of distant snow. The tensing of his thighs around Charles’ sides, the noises Charles makes when his eyes rake over Arthur’s body, the heat of the skin that presses to his. The careful assuredness in his touch.

It was never just _ sex. _ It’s not always about _ feeling good, _ not for either of them. It’s more than that-- it’s about trust. It’s an exercise in freedom, for them to simply _ be, _for them to be together like this. It’s an exercise in love.

Charles knew who Arthur was, knew what he hid from the world, just the same as Charles did. It was by accident, mostly. All that time ago in the heat and the dust of their Gaptooth Ridge camp, a seasonal creek when it had been weeks since Arthur’s last proper bath. Charles hadn’t meant to walk in on him like that, should’ve taken the blue shirt hung on the branch as warning enough. But he pulled aside the bracken and looked all the same, simply on impulse. 

Arthur should’ve shot him then, the newcomer who had no right to know Arthur’s most closely-kept secret. Threatened to, but Charles could see the panic behind his scowl. The flash of helplessness that Charles was all too familiar with. Arthur’s life was suddenly in Charles’ hands, could be ground into the dirt on just a word if Charles had been the type to tell. 

He’d simply turned around with a muttered, “Sorry, sorry,” and a pounding heart. 

Arthur was like _ him. _

He’d spent his early months in the Van Der Linde gang in a careful dance around the elephant in the room, where Arthur would go weeks without saying a word to Charles, and Charles would do everything he could short of verbally telling him that _ he wasn’t a threat. _

He spoke softly, tread carefully around Arthur. 

It earned him mostly silence.

It wasn’t intentional that they were paired with each other more and more often on jobs-- it was mostly Hosea and Dutch sending them out, they _ knew _how well the two worked together, despite how green Charles was, despite how obviously awkward Arthur was around him-- when Arthur finally bit the damn bullet. 

A long stakeout, somewhere west of Cholla Springs, outside a ranch at the edge of a canyon that was a front for weapons smugglers. Something like that. The smugglers were _ hours _late. 

“So... About that time at Gaptooth,” Arthur said, and Charles’ heart nearly stopped. He’d fully expected Arthur to continue avoiding it for as long as they knew each other. 

“...Expect I gave ya quite a fright.” And there it was again, that fear behind his tight smile. The nervousness betrayed by the hand idly scratching the back of his neck. 

Charles really wasn’t sure what to say. Reassure him, maybe? _ Tell him? _

“Not really. I’m... Not surprised easily.”

Arthur shot him a look then. Pleasantly surprised, but mostly confused.

Charles flashed a tight smile of his own, just a twitch at the corners of his mouth. _ Tell him. _ Tell _ him. _“No offense, but... Lacking in that aspect of masculinity... It’s not that uncommon.” 

_ Tell him. _

“It ain’t?”

“Mhmm.”

_ Tell him, goddammit. _

“I’m...” Charles started. Realized he had no idea how to form the words he wanted, he hadn’t _rehearsed_ this. There was a beat of silence so thick he could cut it with a knife.

“...We’re more alike than you’d think,” Charles finally said, and avoided Arthur’s scrupulous gaze. Picked at some dirt underneath his fingernails.

Arthur studied him for a long moment.

“That so,” Arthur said, more to himself than to Charles.

Charles simply pressed his lips together, and drew his eyes back up to the ranch they were supposed to be staking out.

He swore. A light was on inside, and they’d missed how many had gone in.

Arthur’s eyes followed his, and he swore just the same. The stakeout was dragged out till dawn, when Arthur and Charles ended up simply ambushing the group of smugglers rather than just doing recon like they were supposed to. Paid well in the end, but the reward of getting _ that _off his chest was worth more to Charles than whatever they’d looted out of that ranch. 

"Well that explains a few things," Arthur'd said with a wink, every hint of tension gone from his shoulders as they split the take.

They still didn't talk much after that, but it was different-- they simply didn't have much to say outside of jobs. Charles wished he could change that, but he would settle for “acquaintance” over “awkward stranger” any day.

Time passed, and they grew subtly closer. He didn’t dare hope for Arthur to regard him as anything more than a friend. He'd be damned if he was going to ruin a good thing.

More time passed-- months and jobs and misses opportunities and feelings left unvoiced.

They joked about themselves, and they got drunk in the light of the scout fire more than once. Charles tried not to think about how close he was to Arthur, relaxed and breathing easy beside him, beer in hand. He resisted the impossibly strong urge to take his hand in his, shuffle closer and lean his head on Arthur's shoulder. Fear held him back. He didn't want Arthur to think Charles only wanted him because they were the same, and god forbid he think Charles just had some kind of sick inclination for men like them.

He couldn't bring himself to ruin what they had going, too wrapped up in his own doubt.

But after Blackwater, he taught Arthur to hunt properly. They talked. Arthur learned about Charles, his family, the thoughts that he never lent voice to around anyone else. Charles learned about Arthur, his grievances and his favorite distractions from them, and his surprising knowledge of the natural world despite his claims of ignorance. 

Their first kiss was drunk, and definitely not as well hidden as it could’ve been. Well, _hidden_ was a bastardization of the truth. Might as well have been the town's square.

As it were, they were holed up in the shitty saloon in Valentine, right after Charles watched Arthur choke the life out of a government paid poacher. Charles was drowning his anger, and Arthur was drinking in some kind of solidarity. He’d gotten Charles to talk about how he _ felt. _ What he thought of the whole situation. Offered to _ cheer him up _ , and Charles resisted the temptation to even _ think _ about what he'd meant by that. And Arthur'd taken a drink of his beer and a foamy bit of it dribbled out of the corner of his mouth, made its way down the sweat-slicked skin, the stubble at his jaw. 

Charles watched it with that kind of drunken intensity that narrowed down the world to just him, the drink in his hand, and how goddamn _ good _ Arthur looked with his cheeks flushed all uneven and pink. He licked his lips and _ went for it, _licked at the corner of Arthur’s mouth and tilted his head to slot their lips so clumsily together, tasting the shitty beer on his tongue right there at the table in the middle of a half-empty saloon. 

He didn’t even care if anyone _ saw _ , with the way Arthur affixed him with that squinty gaze he got when he was drunk, so intense and suddenly _ hungry. _All the air felt like it left Charles’ lungs while he wasn’t looking.

They stumbled their way to the bar to pay for a seedy room that they had barely stepped into before Arthur pushed him up against the door and dropped to his knees, and _ christ _if that wasn’t the hottest goddamn thing Charles could possibly imagine in his drunken state.

Arthur, buzzed as he was, outright laughed when he unbuckled Charles’ belt, yanked his pants to his knees. 

“The hell’re you laughing at?” Charles grunted, almost too drunk to be embarrassed. 

“Nothin’, it’s jus’...” Arthur chuckled. “S'a nice change from havin’ a dick in my mouth,” he wheezed, and Charles laughed with him. Put his hand on Arthur’s head, and pushed his face to the meat of his thigh, his breath ghosting over the trail of hair between his legs. 

“Just suck me off, you fool,” he huffed, and leaned more heavily against the door. 

He couldn’t say much about their first time, besides the fact that it was messy and uncoordinated, and probably the best fuck he’d had in a long time. It was freeing, being with someone like him. Letting his guard down, letting someone _ see _him. Charles barely even worried about waking up alone when he passed out, woke up with a hangover tangled up in the musty sheets and Arthur's ridiculously long legs. 

Something unspoken passed between them after that morning, solidified itself in the times they managed to steal away together after that.

Being with Arthur recharged him in a way nobody else had before. They were each other's respite, a shelter in the rain. Someone to get drunk with and not worry about slipping up, someone to take their shirts off around and be looked upon only with affection. Someone to take a piss with and laugh about it. Someone with whom he didn’t need to worry if they were simply together for sex. 

Inseparable.

It was only a matter of time before they left the gang. After Arthur got abducted, shot, tortured, and Dutch didn’t even think to go look for him. Not many in the gang forgave him for that. Arthur was the one that kept them together more than anything else, and seeing him like that... It was a wake up call for them all. Charles especially. 

It nearly broke Arthur’s heart, but they said their goodbyes to the gang when he was finally strong enough. Mrs. Adler rode with them as far as Big Valley, before heading west with a farewell and a promise to write. The Marstons parted from them not long after that, seeking honest work in Strawberry at the behest of Abigail.

They traveled. Nowhere permanent for those first few months, but they settled for the mountains before long, in the East Grizzlies where the cliffs were sheer and the flowers and the pines grew defiant against the cold blue sky. A cottage, between bear and wolf country; they rebuilt the thing nearly from scratch, with the funds they'd acquired on their travels, working odd jobs, and following surprisingly lucrative maps. It was humble, and it took an assload of work to keep up, but it was theirs. Their days of robbing and killing were... Mostly behind them. 

They’ve been here almost two years now, and the summer sun beats on their naked skin while they lie here and make love, far from prying eyes and comfortable in this little meadow of theirs, comfortable in each other.

Arthur’s wedding band is still on his ring finger, shining bright in the sun while his hands lock the blanket beneath him in a death grip-- Charles’ ring is looped on a beaded necklace that he rarely takes off, and the beads tap gently against his clavicle with the motion of his arm. His fingers shift inside of Arthur, that familiar wet heat, responsive to Charles’ every touch. Another sharp _ thrust _, and another.

It brings a smile to Charles’ lips, just watching Arthur’s face screw up in pleasure. The way he huffs out his breaths and tries not to whine when he grinds the heel of his thumb over his nub, that sensitive bundle of nerves that has the heat in Arthur's abdomen concentrating into a fine _ point _, a white-hot clench of muscle and a stuttered gasp.

Just enough pressure there to have Arthur sweating, writhing underneath him, unabashedly loud and pressing himself closer to Charles. He beams at his husband, at the way his hair is a mussed halo of sandy brown around him, catching gold in the sunlight. His uneven blush, the sun-kissed freckles on his nose. The way he tries to hold Charles' gaze, but his eyelids flutter closed of their own accord at the slightest shift of his fingers, the tickle of his palm as it glides over his ribs and caresses the soft flesh of his hips. 

He loves Arthur like this, breath heaving and face flushed red-- he loves _ every _ side of Arthur, but like _ this-- _ it's a side of him he knows he's only shown to a few in his lifetime. It's a privilege to know who he is behind his various masks, to know just how he likes the quirk of his fingers inside of him, pressing _ up _ and rubbing there, his walls radiating heat, slick around him, positively _ dripping _ for Charles, his intermittent thrusts only serving to push Arthur closer to release. 

Sometimes it's quick-- rubbing Arthur off in the morning before they've mustered the strength to get out of bed, his hands wandering past the waistband of his trousers and kissing the morning breath from his lips. Admiring the morning sun on his skin as he comes with a shaky gasp, holds onto Charles like a lifeline. 

Sometimes it's slow, unhurried and languid, simply reveling in each other. Days where the crops are tended to, the daily chores are done or forgotten. Kisses pressed to hot skin, the taste of sweat and the humid breaths between them. 

Charles’ mouth on Arthur’s nipple, red suckling marks and faint purple bruises across his chest. He loves the sounds Arthur makes when he does this, plays with his skin like this. Marks it like it’s _ his. _Kisses him again over the rapidly bruising marks, moves along the line of his sternum to press a kiss to the scar on his chin, to the corner of his mouth, his nose. Arthur breathes an impatient whine when Charles is distracted by kissing him again, and Charles chuckles and pulls back to look into his eyes.

“Sorry,” he murmurs with a smile and not an ounce of regret. His fingers pick up the pace again as he shifts back, and whatever cheeky retort Arthur has is lost in place of a _ shout, _ Charles moving in him so easily and so _ sharply, _ the pleasure of it is almost enough; _ almost, almost _\-- 

_ “Fuck, fuck, Charles,” _ he gasps, eyes screwed shut and chest heaving.

“Touch yourself,” Charles whispers, watching Arthur’s face intently.

“Nggh--” is all Arthur has the wherewithal to say, but his left hand moves like a flash to rub himself, doesn’t even need to slick his fingers with how _ wet _he is, and Charles licks his lips as he feels Arthur tightening around his fingers. 

"C'mon Arthur," Charles breathes. "Come for me."

He doesn’t last long after that, Charles’ honeyed voice in his ear; Arthur's rolling his hips, meeting Charles on every thrust while his fingers work furiously on his clit, _ circling _ , pressing down while Charles drags his fingers _ up _ into his slick heat, and it feels like Arthur has no _ choice _ in this, his orgasm rapidly baring down on him while he whimpers hot breaths through parted lips, _ hot _ , electric from his fingers to his toes, and Charles finally presses the pad of his thumb _ just there _ , right beneath Arthur's fingers, and Arthur's eyelids flutter closed-- for a split second, or two, _ three _ , he's aware of every tiny sensation in his body-- the scratchy blanket beneath them, the heat of the sun on his face, his shoulders, the breeze on his sweaty skin, the grooves in Charles' hand where it rests on his hip, holding him steady-- and Charles _ inside of him _ , the sensation that's smooth as silk and white-hot and blinding-- he's clenching _ hard _ as wave after wave of his slick orgasm overtakes him, squeezing Charles' fingers like a vice.

It's long overdue, and it comes over Arthur like the tide, like a storm.

Charles speaks softly to him to draw it out just that little bit longer. "That's it, _ fuck _, Arthur," he whispers through the haze, eyelids heavy and breath short.

He's practically dripping too, just the sight of his husband in the throes of ecstasy, the sounds he makes that he's barely aware of-- _ god _ he loves this man.

Arthur lets out another moan, rolls his hips against Charles' thumb as he runs soothing circles against his folds, pressing his four fingers up and into Arthur just to feel the oversensitive tremor of his walls around him.

"_ Charles _," Arthur drawls weakly, thighs twitching as he comes down, too sensitive for Charles to continue much further. His hand returns to its place by his side as he blinks back to reality, to the sight of Charles smiling down at him and pulling out with a wet sound. 

He protests the loss with a whine despite himself. He takes a few breaths, letting himself come down from his high, smiling dopily up at Charles. He relaxes his knees, thighs spread wide where Charles kneels between them, chewing on his lip and absently rubbing his folds.

“You get off yet?” he asks, and Charles only responds with a huff, a smile, a slight shake of his head.

“You want help?”

“What’re you thinking?”

Arthur eyes him for a moment, and Charles feels a surge of affection for him, his heavily lidded gaze that rakes from his chest to the solid muscle at his belly, the dark hair that curls at his groin. 

“Thinkin’ I could take over, at least,” he finally says.

“Then come over here ‘n help me,” Charles says, that half-assed flirtatious glint back in his eye. Arthur flashes a grin to match.

He pushes himself up on his elbows, and Charles lets out a shaky exhale at the sight of Arthur, his own slick dripping between his thighs, the bit of it that squeezes out as he moves to get up. _ He _did that, Charles thinks with a bit of pride. That’s all his.

He licks his lips and stills his hand between his thighs. “Suck me off?” he asks, and Arthur pauses, mid-kneeling. 

“Again?”

“_Please_. I love your mouth,” Charles breathes, and it surprises him how _ pathetic _ that comes out. Has he always been so quick to beg? He can’t muster the effort to feel ashamed when Arthur fixes him with that gaze, however, and his tongue decides to continue bypassing rational thought and just says whatever it pleases. “I love your _ lips _ . I love to see your face wet with your spit and my come. I love to feel your stubble b’tween my legs,” he continues, and his hand is picking up its pace again, circling his nub, leaking, _ dripping _ at the thought of Arthur. “Ah-- Arthur,” his breath hitches as he passes that _ spot _again, and-- there’s a rough hand at his wrist, stilling him. He’d let his eyes slip closed without even noticing, and the warm press of Arthur’s shoulder-- the left one, with the knotted scar that marred his chest so beautifully-- has him nearly groaning in want. Arthur tucks his lips into the crook of Charles’ neck, kisses him tenderly and breathes in the smell of Charles.

“You keep talkin’ like that ‘n I’m gonna end up too worked up to do anythin’ more’n hump your leg like a dog,” Arthur murmurs lowly. Charles laughs, and some of the tension leaves his shoulders.

Arthur kisses him again, barely holding back a smile against his lips, and Charles sighs through his nose at the sweet taste of summer wine on his tongue. Leans into him, ever so slightly, and Arthur pushes back with a muffled groan, runs his tongue against Charles’, brings a hand to the back of his neck. He threads his fingers through the long hair that sticks to his scalp, hot in the light of the sun, and Charles simply breathes against him. “_ Arthur _,” he urges, and Arthur huffs. 

“Alright, alright. Here, lay down,” he says, and Charles eagerly maneuvers himself onto the blanket, taking Arthur’s offered hand. He makes himself comfortable, pillows his arm beneath his head, spreads his legs wide.

"When'd you get so easy?" Arthur teases in a loving murmur as he runs his hands down the length of Charles' thighs, admiring the soft skin, the impressions the seams of his pants left.

"'Round the time I got a taste for watching you eat me out, I think," he responds with a smirk. "Now hurry up."

Arthur doesn't retort with anything but a smile, simply ducks his head between Charles' legs and opens his mouth, runs his tongue flat from his entrance to his clit, feels Charles tense underneath his tongue. 

"_ God _ , Arthur--" he says, and he can feel Charles as he barely stops himself from pressing his thighs around Arthur's head, so _ sensitive _ already. He's so goddamn _ wet _ , and as Arthur runs his tongue through the delicious musk of it, he can't help but feel _ pride _ , a tingle of _ arousal _ down his spine. 

"Mmn-- You're so wet already?" He says quietly as he licks the slick from the corners of his mouth. 

Charles doesn't miss a beat, takes a shaky breath and says; "'Cause I love you, you fool."

Something warm spreads through Arthur at those words, and he can barely suppress his smile as he buries his head between Charles' legs again, nose in those dark curls and just breathing in the scent of his husband as he thumbs open his entrance, moves to lap at the slick inside.

"You want my fingers?"

"Nnh-- no, just keep-- keep going, I'm close."

Arthur gladly complies. He licks a wet stripe from his entrance, slowing down to swirl the tip of his tongue around his nub, through his folds, lapping at the moisture there. Lavishing in the _ taste _ of him.

And Charles below him holds tight to the back of Arthur's hair, rolling his hips against the gentle stimulation of his tongue and panting, _ writhing _ , waiting for Arthur to pick up his pace, to feel his hot mouth working him just the way he knows how. His tongue dips into Charles again, licking, _ sucking _ , a sweet friction that has Charles gasping his frustration. _ Just a little higher, just a little harder _ , he thinks, and Arthur _ knows _. 

The cant of his hips, the hand tightening in his hair-- Charles is so close, and Arthur has half a mind to continue this pace, licking into Charles with no end goal, just tasting him, _ feeling _ him, making him _ squirm _ . But Arthur knows the signs-- he knows exactly what Charles wordlessly communicates-- at present, _ please don’t stop _. 

"Arthur, Arthur," he whines as the man laves his tongue through his folds, until finally-- _ finally-- _ Arthur closes his lips around him, rolls his tongue _ right there _ and _ sucks _, and Charles nearly loses it, open-mouthed and gasping, tensed, the heat flooding through his limbs, pooling in his abdomen.

“Don’t-- _ don’t stop, don’t stop _ ,” he pants desperately, and he can feel it coming-- “ _ Right there, right there _ \--,” and _ there it is, _ his orgasm crashing down on him as if the ground was just pulled out from underneath him, and he’s far away-- high above, watching himself in the throes of that fucking _ecstasy_, his nerves tingling and on _ fire _ with the roll of Arthur’s slick tongue against him, that pure resonance that rings in his head while Arthur sucks him like this-- when Arthur wrenches his orgasm from him so cruelly, so _ lovingly. _

Arthur holds back a smile at his gasps in favor of bobbing his head between Charles’ legs, licking his nub, sucking him _ hard _ with each movement. _ God _ if it doesn’t have him getting worked up just _ listening _to him, blinking up at him with heavy eyelids while Charles’ chest heaves, and his hand is so tight around his own thigh, so firm at the back of Arthur’s neck.

He feels _ close _ to Charles like this, working his mouth on his husband. Knowing he isn’t all there, lost in pleasure behind his eyes and feeling everything Arthur does like lightning on his skin. Arthur’s mouth, slicked with spit and Charles’ musk, teeth hidden behind swollen pink lips, tongue rough against the softness between his legs-- this is a closeness that runs deeper than physical, it’s _ selfless-- _it’s hot and bright and the trust between them just feels like _ euphoria. _

Like there’s nowhere else in the world he’s ever felt more at home than _ here_, wrapped up in Charles’ pleasure. 

His orgasm is a few seconds or more, and Arthur’s breaths come in short puffs while Charles tightens around nothing, jerks his hips against Arthur’s hot mouth, riding it out, his hand firmly tangled in the sandy brown hair at the base of his skull.

He doesn’t remove his mouth as Charles stills, twitching the aftershocks against his tongue while Arthur stares up at him with bated breath, just _ reveling _in feeling him tense against him.

A few moments pass, and Charles goes limp, stutters a shaky exhale. “_ Fuck _.”

Arthur pulls his mouth off him with a wet sound. “Good?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Charles breathes. “Thank you.”

“Sure. But next time I ain’t reward’n you for being so impatient,” Arthur chuckles as he rises, wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.

Charles flashes him a lazy smile. “You _ like _it when I’m whiny." He yawns, stretches around Arthur. "--‘Sides, you’re not really one to talk.”

“Oh shut the hell up,” Arthur grumbles playfully. He makes little effort to hide the grin on his face as he positions himself on his elbow, flush to Charles’ side. Arthur studies Charles’ face for a moment, and Charles meets his gaze.

“What?” he says with a smile.  
  


Arthur blinks, a little slowly, smile still gracing his features. He looks so goddamn good like this, Charles thinks. Lips swollen and pink, the sun on his back, his hair still a mess. All the pain in their pasts, it’s worth it just to be able to see Arthur smiling at him in moments like these.

“I’unno,” Arthur shakes his head, drops his eyes to the space between them. “Just... I missed you.” He meets Charles’ eyes again, and Charles picks up on the vulnerability there, the tension around his eyes. 

He softens immediately. “Missed you too.” There isn’t anything more he can say-- nothing that can be put more concisely than his arms wrapping around Arthur’s shoulders, his face pressed to the crook of Arthur’s neck, pulling him down on top of him. He presses a kiss to the bruise on his collarbone, feather-light. “‘M sorry I was gone so long.”

“Wish we could go together.”

“Mmm. I think it’s for the best though.”

Arthur makes a questioning sound against his shoulder.

Charles presses another kiss to his skin. “Wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you.” Another kiss. “Wouldn’t even make it to the outpost.”

Arthur snorts. “Alright, fair enough.” A minute passes in silence. He sits up and cups Charles’ jaw, runs his thumb over the scar on his cheek. He takes a moment just to stare at his husband, to run his eyes over his lips, his nose, the curve of his eyebrows. Admires the way the sun illuminates his skin, so warm and comforting it evaporates every lingering bit of loneliness he’d been carrying all week. Charles’ eyes slip closed. He presses a kiss to Arthur’s wandering thumb.

“You wanna head home and get some chuck?”

“Stop calling it that,” Charles answers without opening his eyes. Arthur chuckles.

“I’m cookin’ tonight, so that makes it chuck.” He leans down to kiss Charles, just a warm press of lips, but it has the desired effect. A smile spreads across Charles’ face, and he squints at Arthur through one eye.

“Manipulative bastard.”

Arthur simply laughs at that. “_Sure _. Now come on, I’m hungry.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written trans Arthur before???? its basically canon what am I doing with my life. Anyway in all seriousness I've never written binary trans characters before (being nonbinary myself it's a little out of my area of expertise) but if anything I've written comes off as like... Fetishistic? please tell me, that's the LAST thing I wanted to do. I write what I wanna read, but constructive criticism is very very welcome here!!! fellow trans folks especially ;;; (Also I've never restricted any of my fics before but i feel like the added precaution here is necessary,,,*cough*)
> 
> anyway its Eat His Pussy Thursday make sure you eat his pussy


End file.
